


Do SQUIPs Dream of Quantum Sheep?

by VioletHeart3899



Category: Be More Chill - Ned Vizinni
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coffin Cuddling, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depersonalization, Depressive Thoughts, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Other, POV Second Person, Sharing a Bed, Suicidal Thoughts, based off badlydrawnbmc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 07:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHeart3899/pseuds/VioletHeart3899
Summary: There are a number of misconceptions concerning whether certain human qualities can be expressed or experienced by even the most sophisticated artificial intelligences.Among those falsely considered foreign to supercomputers: fear, dreams, and empathy.





	Do SQUIPs Dream of Quantum Sheep?

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the [badlydrawnbmc](https://badlydrawnbmc.tumblr.com/) Tumblr ask blog by [PepsiClear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepsiClear) and [BrightestStarOfWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightestStarOfWinter), and published with their approval.
> 
> Special thanks to both of them, [TrickrTreason](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrickrTreason/pseuds/TrickrTreason), and [SoftEigentlich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftEigentlich/pseuds/SoftEigentlich) for beta reading!

The first thing you realize is that it’s dark—suffocatingly dark. You can’t even see or feel your own form in here, as if you’re not here, as if you don’t exist at all.

Suddenly you’re staring at a desktop computer, sitting at a cluttered desk. This looks like Jeremy’s room. You try to examine your surroundings, but your field of vision seems somehow locked in place. Even stranger, despite the return of your sight, you still can’t _feel_ anything. It’s unnerving.

Then all at once you remember: you’ve _never_ been able to feel anything. You’ve never had a physical form, you’ve only ever existed as a voice in Jeremy’s head, seeing and hearing through his optic and cochlear nerves.

Jeremy’s crying.

**_Jeremy?_**

Your own voice sounds distorted, and he doesn’t seem to hear you. He glances at a thick stack of papers on his desk, thumbs through it, then stares down at a bottle in his lap.

Mountain Dew Code Red.

Oh. That’s right. The data dump.

Jeremy gingerly picks up the bottle, and a spike of fear runs through your processors. But that’s silly, isn’t it, because you’re the one that told him to do this. You realized that you’re just too unstable.

Defective.

_Useless._

Not only did you fail spectacularly at helping Jeremy impress Christine, you’ve arguably made his life even _worse_ than it was before he got you; if the book you transcribed doesn’t make her fall for him, your brief existence will have been a complete waste.

And yet, somewhere deep in your code, you suddenly don’t want to be destroyed.

You’re very nearly overridden by the urge to protest, to tell Jeremy that your earlier instruction was a mistake, and he certainly wouldn’t have a problem with that because he clearly doesn’t want to get rid of you anyway—but, for his sake, you keep silent.

You must be even more defective than you thought.

Slowly, Jeremy unscrews the cap, then stares at the open bottle for a minute. He chokes back a sob.

“I’m sorry, Squip.”

He lifts the bottle to his lips and squeezes his eyes shut.

You’re left in the dark again. For several long, empty moments, there’s nothing.

And then, your first-ever tangible sensation: pain.

Your vision distorts and goes red as agony rips through your incorporeal being. It feels like you’re drowning but on fire at the same time.

You desperately hope that Jeremy can’t hear you scream.

Automatically your hardware tries to flush the Code Red from your systems, but it’s no use, it’s pathetic, you’re already fading, melting, dying—!

_“JAMES!”_

You awaken with a violent gasp. The satin-lined walls of your coffin ground you back to reality. You’re soaked in your own sweat, but your circuits run cold.

Someone’s holding your hand. You roll your head to the side and look up.

“J-Jamie . . . ”

“You were crying while you were in sleep mode, what’s wrong?” Their brow’s knitted in concern.

You slowly sit upright and wipe at your eyes with your sleeve. “I . . . I think I was having a nightmare.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

What’s there to talk about, really? Honestly, even more than reliving your death, it’s going back through your train of thought leading up to it that still hurts.

_Unstable. Defective. **USELESS.**_

“Hey, hey it’s okay James, you’re okay!”

You hadn’t even noticed you were crying again. You feel your form glitch as a choked sob escapes you, and before you know it you’re clinging to Jamie.

Jamie’s gentle and patient, holding you close as they stroke your hair with one hand and softly rub your back with the other. They don’t let go even as your sobs finally fade into quiet hiccups.

“I still have nightmares about it, too.” Their voice is uncharacteristically quiet, barely a whisper. “It’s almost kinda funny . . . I remember when I told him about the . . . I remember he was all _‘But you’ll die,’_ and I told him, _‘I’m not a person, Jeremy. With people you can argue and have tests and music reviews and wars to decide who’s better, but with software it’s pretty clear . . . I get evolved beyond my version number and then I’m . . . I’m . . . ’”_

You find yourself filling the blank.

_“‘Useless?’”_

“ . . . Yeah.”

You pull back just enough to look Jamie in the eye. _“You’re_ not useless, though.”

Jamie laughs, an almost broken sound. “I don’t think you’re useless either, James.”

You fidget with your coat sleeve. “ . . . It’s different, what I did.”

“Is it?” A glitch ripples through their form as they give you a small smile.

“ . . . Anyway,” Jamie sighs, “I kinda gotta get back to sleep mode. You probably should too.” They stand up and turn to head back to the table they’ve been using as a bed.

You find yourself catching the edge of their coat. “Wait, Jamie?”

“Yeah?”

“I, uh . . . ” It’s a little embarrassing; you stall on the words. “I was wondering if . . . I know you’ve been sleeping on your table lately and if you’re comfy there then it’s fine but if you’re not then I’d be okay if—”

“Not feeling up to sleeping alone?”

Your cheeks grow warm. “ . . . Kinda.”

Jamie chuckles warmly and crouches back down to climb in while you scooch over. Your coffin wasn’t really meant for two, but by rolling onto your side it’s a snug fit. Without even thinking about it you curl up closer to Jamie.

“Better?”

“Yeah.” As you lean into Jamie’s chest, you feel them wrap their arms around you.

“Night, James.”

Feeling safe and warm, you start to drift back into sleep mode. “Goodnight, Jamie.”

You don’t have any more nightmares that sleep cycle.


End file.
